


Square One

by bloodsongs



Series: Square One [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Art student shenanigans, College/University, M/M, Oblivious!Arthur, What's new?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:58:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsongs/pseuds/bloodsongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur sneakily enrols in a course he's always been interested in behind his father's back: advertising. A brusque and enigmatic classmate infuriates and intrigues him, and on top of that, he knows Arthur's name. Arthur's pretty sure he's never met him before, though... or has he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Square One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emjayelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emjayelle/gifts), [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts).



> Oh, LORD. I spent so much time trying to think of a suitable title because I usually don't write fluff at ALL and... well. (claws at face) I'm sorry, I tried! 
> 
> Funnily enough, university got in the way of my revising this and fleshing it out more. To the OP, I know you asked for desk sex, and there... is desk sex, but I guess I'll fit it in a sequel or write an entire universe for this. I didn't get to finish a lot of what I wanted to achieve, but I do want to give your prompt justice!
> 
> SOON. I will give you that desk porn. YES.
> 
> Huge thanks to all 5 of my lovely betas who helped with this fic. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone. I hope you enjoy this!

Arthur runs down the corridors, scanning the doors for any indication of where his first tutorial is currently being held in. He's fifteen minutes late -- fifteen! He should never have underestimated the lack of parking on the Camelot campus and the sheer size of it. 

It didn't help that you could never find anything in these arts buildings; the rooms were all over the place and the directions never led you anywhere they were supposed to. Kind of like the minds of the people who studied in them, really. 

Well, Arthur was now one of them, surely he could take the piss out of the stereotype. In this very confusing moment as a freshly-enrolled advertising major, however, he was _seriously_ questioning his decision to switch from business and management to design. 

"Oh, thank fuck," Arthur breathes, finally spotting CA305 out of the corner of his eye. He adjusts his shirt and dies a little inside when he peeks in. The class is already full and settled, paying rapt attention to the tutor in front the way only distracted design students can while fiddling with their briefs or looking out the window. Arthur does loathe being late.

Nothing for it.

He opens the door and winces when everyone turns to stare at him as one. The tutor, a stern-looking old man, sighs and waves him in. "Your name, please? I'll have to mark you late on the roll."

Arthur shuffles in and ignores the staring. "I'm sorry, I've no excuse to offer for my being late. Um, it's Pendragon. The stationery item and the gigantic fire-breathing creature." He pauses. "I'm not sure if I'm on the roll yet, I've only just switched to advertising a few days ago."

The tutor raises an eyebrow and looks down at his roll. "Ah. Well, I'll make a note of it."

Shrugging apologetically, Arthur dons his best, winning smile. "Please."

"For now, have a seat." The tutor narrows his eyes and scans the classroom. "Couple of empty seats left, you're not exactly spoilt for choice."

Arthur flushes a little, and spots an empty spot that's nearest to him. "Sure. Thank you, sir. I apologise for interrupting." The other students have begun to lost interest, so he takes advantage of that to quickly scoot over to that empty spot next to a deeply unimpressed lean, dark-haired boy. "Is this seat taken?"

"Unfortunately, no," the boy says a little curtly, and takes his books away to accommodate Arthur.

"I'm sorry?" He's a little thrown by that even as he eases his way in. 

"Nothing, just have a seat. It's fine."

"Hey, mate, I know I didn't exactly give the best first impression by barging in late, but..."

There's a sigh as the boy massages his temples and looks at Arthur. His eyes are a sharp blue, and he looks vaguely guilty. "Yeah, you're right. Look, I'm sorry, it's been a bit of a stressful morning, and..." He trails off. "You don't remember me."

Arthur tries to place him, ignoring the sharp spark of unreasonable attraction at the way the boy sniped at him. There's something familiar about him, but nothing that prompts any sort of immediate recognition. "What, should I?" He says, without thinking.

The boy cracks a half-smile at him, something thoughtful but distant. "Not really. I don't see why you should."

Shaking his head and taking out a notebook and a pen, Arthur frowns. "Have I met you before, though?"

He stares at Arthur for a moment, as if trying to gauge if he's joking, but the boy eventually laughs, low and rich without malice. Warm, with a real smile on his face now, he’s actually kind of really fucking gorgeous, and Arthur most certainly does not stare. "Oh, Arthur. Never mind."

When the class on the basics of copywriting finishes and the students scramble in a mad rush to beat the rest to the corridors first, Arthur realises two things: the skinny boy didn't give Arthur his name, and Arthur hadn't actually given him his.

* * *

 

He spends the next few days racking his brain for any indication of where he might’ve seen the mysterious boy in his class before, to no avail. So, curiosity might have killed the cat, but Arthur doesn’t give a fuck; he hates it when he can’t place a word or a person, when something niggling at the back of his mind is just this slightly out of reach. He just wants to know who the hell that boy was, and he wants to know _now._

Seriously. Perhaps they’d met in high school? Arthur is pretty sure they’d not crossed paths before. He entertains the truly horrifying possibility of the boy being a drunken mistake of a shag, but Arthur quickly kills that idea — he would definitely have remembered a bloke that attractive, pissed out of his mind or not.

Yeah, sure, he’d been a tad mouthy and rude, but maybe he’d had a bad day. Besides, he really was rather attractive, in a lean sort of way, with his sharp angles and striking features. 

Ha. Two days in and Arthur is already distracted over someone he’s not even properly met. He’s already discreetly changed courses without his father’s knowledge; Uther Pendragon would probably bring the collective wrath of House Pendragon down upon him if he ever got wind of Arthur ambling around after some chit, never mind some random lad in an advertising tutorial, of all things.

The slight sneer that had twisted the boy’s mouth upon first seeing Arthur wasn’t that of a regretful lover of the one night special variety, either. It was a little heavy, but curious all the same, as though he wanted Arthur to prove a point. 

How strange.

By some equally strange stroke of luck, Arthur makes it early to his illustration class. He tells himself it’s only because he really does have a strong interest in illustration (true) and not because he wants to utilise the opportunity to talk to the boy if he’s also taking this particular unit this semester. His fervent and certainly not desperate wishing worked; the moment he steps inside the class, he notices the messy dark mop of hair from across the studio. 

Inching his way through the haphazard labyrinth of easels and art equipment, Arthur holds his own toolbox close to his chest, muttering hasty apologies until he reaches that coveted spot. It’s a short distance away from what looks to be some artful arrangement of fruits and vegetables on drapery. They’re working with still life today, then.

“Hey,” Arthur ventures, putting his things away. With no idea what he's actually supposed to do, he takes a glance around to look at what everyone else is doing before yanking an easel from under some girl’s nose to set it up, ignoring her indignant squawking. Arthur wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he does feel a little intimidated about being behind everybody else, having only started his stint with this course a week later than the other students. He tries, though.

The boy doesn’t look up at Arthur’s greeting, but he tenses a little, so Arthur assumes he heard him. “You knew my name a few days ago. How?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he wants to kick himself, because wow, well done on sounding like an absolute dick, Pendragon.

Then the boy does look up to meet his eyes, incredulous blue eyes behind thick black frames. Arthur spares an absent moment to think that, huh, he wasn’t wearing glasses before, and then, _then,_ that’s when recognition finally slams Arthur in the gut after all those fruitless days trying to remember who the hell the boy was.

Funny that he should remember the glasses, of all things. Flashes of a quiet, distracted boy hunched over a sketchbook at the back of a classroom come to mind, those same glasses perched on the slightly crooked bridge of his nose the way it is now. Arthur remembered him as being a bit of a loner, never really talking to anyone, but he was easy with his smiles. He'd smiled at Arthur once when he'd looked the boy's way, warm but shy.

"So you were from my school." Arthur shakes his head, excited in the way only certain school-leavers are upon meeting ex-schoolmates, no matter how many (or non-existent) words they had exchanged in conversation before. The boy just raises an eyebrow, as if prompting him to go on. "Why didn't you say?"

The boy chuckles after. What was his name again? "It's not that hard a conclusion to reach, Sherlock." 

"You didn’t answer my question.” He feels a little mortified that he sounds almost petulant. The lecturer starts talking about shading with pencils and discovering things like shadow tones, but Arthur’s heart isn’t in it today. “We were even in the same class!”

“Oh.” That dimpled smile makes an appearance again, after so long. It was probably the glasses, but Arthur had never really noticed what a nice smile he had. “So you remembered, eventually.”

The students behind and around Arthur start shuffling to try their hand at drawing capsicums and other funny-shaped vegetables and fruits, breaking out into hushed and uncertain mutterings about where to start. He takes out his own pencils but leaves them in his lap, just thinking about what the boy said. “Eventually,” Arthur agrees in a whisper. “And you never did give me your name.”

A busy silence falls around them gradually, an echoing stillness but for the scratching of pencils against paper. “Not my fault you never bothered to find out,” the boy mutters back at him, looking away from Arthur, but not before Arthur catches the smile on his face. 

Arthur waits expectantly as the boy starts with his drawing too, holding his pencil up against his thumb the way the lecturer’s showing them now. “Well?”

“Well, what?” The boy doesn’t look at him, face all intense concentration as he tilts his head, trying to get a better angle of what he’s drawing. His shoulders are shaking with restrained laughter, though, and Arthur suddenly gets the urge to throw something at him.

 

He starts sketching too, under the sharp gaze of the lecturer, but inches closer to that impossible boy. “I’m Arthur,” he says under his breath, gritting his teeth. The boy just smiles beatifically at him before sticking out his tongue. He’s pretty fucking adorable like this, all nerdy in those glasses and in his crisp red shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. How had Arthur never noticed him before?

“I know who you are, you ass,” the boy says fondly. And now he’s just being difficult, Arthur’s sure of it.

“Are you just being annoying to punish me for forgetting your name?”

A contemplative hum. “Well, I was just going to do it for a while, but then it became so much fun...”

Arthur opens his mouth, ready to argue, but he’s interrupted by the illustration lecturer rapping Arthur’s shoulder sternly with a long wooden ruler. He jumps, not expecting that. “Young man, you’re here to learn to create masterpieces, not to chat. Get to work!”

Stuttering an apology as the lecturer walks away, glaring back at him every few seconds, Arthur makes a show of twiddling the screws of his easel and begins shading his apple, pencil lines folding into pencil lines as he brings the shadows of his drawing to life. “You are a terrible, terrible person,” Arthur hisses, hoping the undignified snort coming from next to him is an indication that the boy’s still listening.

“All right, all right. Let’s try this again.” The boy grins, and holds out his hand, all pencil smudges and pale skin.

Arthur takes it, and hesitates a bit too long before letting go. “I’m Arthur,” he repeats, feeling his earlier annoyance ebb away at the lingering warmth of those fingers against his. “And you are?”

The boy rubs a thumb absently against his lips, meeting his eyes. Arthur’s breath catches.

“I’m Merlin.”

* * *

 The café just around the corner from his campus has lovely coffee, free Wi-Fi and the snarkiest barista that ever snarked, so naturally Arthur finds himself automatically gravitating towards it whenever he has any kind of free time between classes. He’s touching up some sketches for a storyboard to present to a tutor in an hour, and if he were to be honest, this is the most fun he’s had in _ages._

 

Business had been such a drag. Just because he could get the grades when he really worked at it didn’t mean he liked it. Arthur had loathed every minute of his first week being enrolled in a course he’d been forced into, simply because his father had done it without even talking to him about his future in the first place.

Uther Pendragon was not a man who took ‘no’ for an answer. Arthur’s not proud of how he basically circumvented his father’s decision about his education; namely, forking out his own money to make the change to advertising behind Uther’s back, but he’d been so angry he’d just gone with it.

“Come here often?” A voice drawls from behind him. 

Arthur looks up from the story of mutant Monty Python-inspired bunnies he’s working on as a narrative concept, and huffs in an extremely put-upon fashion at the sight of Merlin. “How dare you pull that on me after what transpired this morning.”

“Drama queen,” Merlin retorts, casually sitting down next to Arthur as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. The only thing that betrays his hesitation is the way his eyes flick to Arthur’s face first as if asking permission, but he settles into the spot relatively quickly. “Be that way. And here I was being all nice and getting you a coffee. Got you one with some room for milk, if that’s all right with you.”

“I do actually like my coffee black with just a dash of milk, so thank you for that.” He takes the proffered cup with a quick salute.  Arthur supposes that to anyone else, they must look like they’ve known each other for a while as opposed to having only had two actual conversations. “You deserved it, Arthur. I can’t believe you’ve never known my name. I’ve been in your class for five years!”

Moving his art away so Merlin can place his books on the table, too, Arthur sits back and rubs the back of his head gingerly. “Well, I’m sorry,” he says, awkward, but Merlin doesn’t seem to really be holding it against him. “I wish I’d talked to more of my classmates in school — five years, and for all you know, I’ll never meet a bunch of them ever again.”

Merlin waves his hand impatiently. “Don’t apologise. You were pretty friendly with everyone. All things considered, I thought you’d be joining some of those in your circle for business or engineering or somesuch.” He flicks open a notebook, leaves its bare brown pages there as he bites absently on the end of his pen in thought before turning to Arthur again. “Why are you in Camelot U, Arthur? I certainly didn’t expect to see you in design.”

A girl laughs loudly in the background, breaking the suddenly tense mood of the conversation they’re having. Arthur fidgets with his papers, smoothing over the inked squares and pencil lines. “I’m not really sure how to answer that. You did hear what I said, though, when I first turned up for that class at the beginning of week two?”

“Pendragon, not everyone makes a note of every little thing you say now, unlike in high school,” Merlin says, patronising, patting his arm.

“You’re painting me out to be some kind of attention-seeking tosser! Surely I wasn’t that bad.”

“I was only joking.” Merlin sticks his tongue out at him. “Stop taking everything I say so seriously.”

“Were you this much of a joker in school, then? And why is it that you know so much more about me than I do about you?” Arthur grumbles half-heartedly. Would Merlin have been like this in class with him, had they talked? He feels regret, suddenly, at the prospect of never having had the chance to find out before this. 

Merlin’s expression is wistful. “People watched you, Arthur. I was joking about implying you sought attention, but you wouldn’t have needed to. It didn’t matter whether you were debating, or even when you were winning medals for the track team, or just cracking a joke before class started; you captivated others, and our classmates felt drawn to you.”

The words stir something in him, kindles a kind of reckless fire. Arthur’s never really had a type personality-wise for the boys or girls he dates or finds he’s interested in. Merlin, though... In this short time they’re getting to know each other, Merlin pushes and pulls and throws him off-kilter when Arthur’s not expecting it. 

Arthur finds he rather likes that.

“Did you?” Arthur says, watching the way Merlin’s eyes widen and his cheeks flush. “Feel drawn to me?”

“I, um, was just making an observation,” Merlin stammers, and Arthur raises an eyebrow, feeling a little smug and a tiny bit pleased; at least he’s not the only one feeling out of his element.

A golden opportunity to get his own back at Merlin for all the ribbing? No way Arthur’s not taking it. “Young Merlin had a crush on young Arthur, did he?” Arthur teases, feeling more daring than usual. Talking with Merlin like this is liberating, like sailing a boat on the open seas and not caring which way the wind takes you. 

Merlin narrows his eyes at Arthur, red to the tip of his ears. “That’s none of your beeswax. Weren’t we discussing why you decided to study advertising?”

“I know a deflection when I see one!” Arthur’s not that much of a prat, though, and he can at least sense when prying isn’t welcome. “Fine. I’ll humour you, but first: what had you pegging me for the business sort?”

“Hmm,” Merlin hums noncommittally. “You’ve talked about it. Your father’s business, I mean, and how he expected you to take over the company when you got older.”

“You might know a lot about me, Merlin,” Arthur says quietly, “But if we’d talked before in school, and I mean really talked away from school and things, you might’ve heard how I really, really didn’t want to go into business.”

Merlin does show surprise at that, his jaw dropping and everything. “No. Really? And I’m not being sarcastic this time.”

Arthur laughs. “Yeah. Expectations and all that. I might or might not have a good head for it, but it’s really not what I want. I’ve always liked some aspects of design, particularly that of advertising. If I do happen to have a good grasp of business and brands, why not apply it to something I find interesting like this?”

“You have a point there.” Merlin rests his chin against the back of his hand, glancing at Arthur thoughtfully. “You’re pretty smart, too. I remember watching you in debate competitions, coming up with arguments in the heat of the moment and everything.”

“Oh, ‘pretty smart’,” Arthur mocks good-naturedly. “Good to know you think so highly of me, _Mer_ lin.”

“Why on earth are you enunciating my name like that?” Merlin sputters indignantly. “But it’s true! Still, that’s not enough reason to go into desi—” He stops, and takes a good look at Arthur’s sketches. Merlin pulls a couple of sheets over and leafs through them. 

“Arthur, you sneaky bastard,” he breathes, impressed. “I thought you did surprisingly well for your illustration class and everything, but I didn’t know you drew!”

“It’s nothing, really.” Arthur coughs. “I mean, it’s a hobby? I like it and everything, but I couldn’t exactly highlight it in school and stuff.”

“I took art for GCSE," Merlin says accusingly. “You didn’t— I didn’t see you there. For our school’s batch.”

“That’s one of the reasons I applied to Camelot, actually.” Arthur tries for a sheepish grin. “The subjects I took were what I needed to get a spot here for business, but they were more keen on portfolio reviews and interviews for the design course. I didn’t have a proper tutor outside of our art classes then, but I asked her to help me prepare a decent folio for my secondary application in secret.”

Merlin’s expression softens. “Your father didn’t approve?”

Arthur’s not sure what makes him tell the uncomfortable truth, but he does it anyway. “He doesn’t know, actually.”

“What, that you changed your course? How on earth did you manage it, then?”

“The fees to change your course before the deadline weren’t that costly.” Arthur sighs. “I made do with what I’d saved up over the summer from commissions.”

Merlin pushes the sketches back towards Arthur’s side of the table. “Commissions, even? And here I thought I had you all figured out just by stalking—” Merlin clamps his mouth shut, but Arthur’s started grinning.

“Friends, mostly, and people would ask me to draw stuff online.” Arthur lets Merlin’s almost-comment slide, because Merlin’s mortified look is rewarding enough in itself. Extremely entertaining, too. “It wasn’t all that difficult, setting up a PayPal account and working on them on the side.”

“Good on you,” Merlin says, surprised. “That’s actually really brilliant, Arthur.”

“Is that grudging admiration I hear in your voice?” There’s something really fun about teasing Merlin; perhaps what he finds so appealing about it is what keeps driving Merlin to do the same to Arthur, too.

“Piss off.” Merlin’s smiling again, all dimples and white teeth, and Arthur briefly entertains the thought of _more_ and _them._ “Look, Arthur, don’t... don’t sweat it, all right? I’ve always wanted to go into graphic design, and it’s good that you’re here too because you did want to study it, albeit having gotten here with some hiccups. It’s fine.”

Arthur sighs. “You think so? Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t, or if my father was right and that I’m just potentially ignoring something that could be what I’m meant for.”

“Sometimes you really surprise me, Arthur. For someone who’s got a bit of a bloated head at times, you’re awfully self-depreciating.”

“Hey!”

“No, I’m joking. Again. Anyway, it’s been a pleasure talking to you, Arthur. And... catching up, even though there was nothing much to catch up about in the first place.”

“Five years to make up for, Merlin,” Arthur says, shaking his head. “And now that we’re classmates again and all, you know.”

“Yeah,” Merlin agrees. “Well. I guess I should go get my things before that next tutorial.” He makes to stand, clearing his things, and all Arthur wants is for him to stay. 

“Merlin,” he blurts, and Merlin stops, a question in the curve of his frown.

Arthur makes a helpless gesture. “Thank you for the coffee,” he says, tilting his head briefly towards his cup. “I’d... Let me buy you one.”

“Right now?” Merlin asks, incredulous.

“Well, no,” Arthur amends. “I feel like a tit. Look, maybe... Could I see you again?”

Merlin lights up, expression edging from wary to anticipatory. “You’ll be seeing me quite a fair bit, Arthur,” he says, still, lips quirking upwards.

“Oh, for... You know what I mean!”

“Maybe I don’t!” Except Merlin totally does.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” Arthur repeats, feeling foolish, and some curious people at the tables next to them are beginning to stare. “Let’s talk, I... want to get to know you more. Um.”

Merlin bursts into laughter. “Forget business; I’d pegged you for the smooth, Casanova type, and here you are being an awkward penguin trying to ask me out!”

“Shut up,” Arthur mutters, and grabs Merlin’s wrist as he steps away from the table. “Will you? I’d really like it if you did, it’d make my week. You’re kind of infuriating but also kind of fit  and you have a really weird sense of humour but I find that I’d like to spend more time talking to you about everything and possibly mutant bunnies over coffee.” He finishes in a rush. “Please?”

“Some proposition you’re making.” Merlin jots down more notes in his notebook, shaking his head as if disappointed in Arthur’s mini-ode to Merlin.

“Come for coffee with me, Merlin. I’ll promise not to bore you to death, the way you seem so insistent I might.”

“That’s not what I’m afraid of,” Merlin says softly, and the tone of their conversation turns somber again. “But I suppose I could be persuaded.”

Arthur recognises the tone with which he says it, and laughs. “Gold Blend, then?”

“Does that make me Sharon Maughan? _You_ be Sharon Maughan, you’ve got the hair for it.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Merlin. Is that a yes?”

Merlin scoffs and kicks Arthur’s chair so that he nearly falls backwards before Merlin laughs and catches his arm in time. “What the _fuck_ , Merlin!”

“Let’s go, Arthur, or you’ll be late and get the disapproving eyebrow treatment again. Pack your things!”

“You didn’t answer my question!” Arthur yells at him as Merlin strides towards the café’s doors.

“Unobservant as always,” Merlin says seriously, from across the café. People are certainly staring at them in earnest now. “I already did.”

He leaves Arthur alone at his table with his things, blinking in disbelief. “What?”

It isn’t until later in his tutorial that Arthur finds a discreet sheet of familiar-looking brown paper tucked between his sketches of killer mutant bunnies, a single word on it:

_Yes._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Post-reveal I'll probably do a great rehaul of this and add a whole bunch of stuff, so hang in there! ♥


End file.
